Denial
by Sweetest-Sammy
Summary: Just my thoughts on what Sam would do if Dean died, again. Differnt in that John's in there.


Ok guys, first story by myself, I hope you like it. I don't really know what sparked it, it just sort of came. Another post-deathfic so if you don't like them don't read it.

Read and enjoy.

Sam lay in the centre of the darkness, open eyes staring unseeing into the darkness. 

His sight was all but lost in the fight with unshed tears, but what was left of it was focused with singular intensity on the glowing figures adorning the allegedly illuminated face of the alarm clock the only light in the room other than the faint glow creeping under the door. Every detail of this tacky piece of cheap electronic junk was imprinted on Sam's memory, from the emblazoned name of the hotel to the tiny blinking lights between the numbers.

As these numbers changed, counting off first minutes, then hours almost no thought crossed Sam's mind. Those that did were as trivial and impersonal as the sparse and pathetic decoration that adorned the darkened hotel room.

But Sam didn't reach his hand the few centimetres it would need to move for light to go for light to strike the room.

All that existed in Sam's world was this dark bedroom and the clock on the cheap plywood bedside table counting down the seconds left of his life. An eternity, an eternity alone, without Dean.

No! no, don't think that. Dean's not gone. Dean is not gone! But it was true and Sam knew it. He had known it when the doctor came to the waiting room door with pity in his eyes, known when an unconscious Dean's hand had slipped from his as he was pulled into a wailing ambulance.

If only he had held Dean's hand one moment longer, been beside him in the ambulance. The things he could have said, maybe just being there would have pulled Dean back, back from the edge of wherever he was now.

It was Sam's fault and he'd known it all along, but he hadn't acknowledged it, even as he drove alone in Dean's car to the hospital and back to the hotel. Now he had admitted it to himself and it burnt.

His chest tightened and his breath came in gasps as hot tears flowed down his parched face, not quenching the fire in his heart but heightening its fury until the pain threatened to consume him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry Dean. I didn't mean to let you die, I should have stayed." Sam turned his head into the pillow as massive sobs shook his body and a flood of tears forced him to break his staring contest with the clock.

"Mr Winchester?" a soft voice at the door stopped Sam's sobs and as he repressed the shudders he held his breath, glad he had left the light off and hoping the intruder would leave him alone.

"Mr Winchester? I'm sorry to disturb you only this gentleman needs to see you…" the voice was cut short as a heavy fist replaced the light tap on the door.

"Sam? Sammy?" John's voice was unusually soft and rough, as if he had a bad cold, or maybe, just maybe, he had been crying.

Sam bit his lips together, hearing Dean in every movement his father made and in his very voice, so different, yet bringing back memories with their very own bittersweet pain as they scored the empty space of his chest.

Sam wondered for a moment why his father was there, how he knew. Then he remembered the frantic call he had placed hours earlier driving recklessly along deserted roads with the phone in his trembling hand, alternating between cold fury at his father for not being there to save Dean as he had always been when they were younger and a desperate need for the older man to hold Sam as he had done when he was little, to tell him it would be alright, Dean would be alright. He remembered through a haze of grief the heated yelling at a calmly automated version of his fathers voice and the sobbing to the machine as if it could respond.

A key turned in the lock and still Sam didn't move, the woman's footsteps retreated lightly along the corridor and still the door didn't open.

It was a strange standoff; Sam's sobs had slowed to an almost undetectable shiver and John's tears had burnt off and so one man was on either side of the door, each waiting for the others move, some kind of signal.

It was just the kind of tension had always been there to break, Sam recalled, more sobs rising in his chest and tears flowed unchecked down his face.

Maybe he made more sound than he thought or maybe John sensed what his son was going through. Either way the door slowly inched open, letting a slice of light into the room and illuminating Sam's face, turning each tears into a gem sliding down his face as he lifted his face to look at his father.

John carefully closed the door behind him and crossed the room carefully. Obviously wary of his sons mood after the furious shouting of the phone message. But Sam made no move to attack him and John sank to sit on the bed beside Sam.

And there they sat together in the still dark room. Two men consumed by grief and completely silent yet communicating more than they had since Mary had burnt on the ceiling.

They sat in silence as dawn broke through the window and packed belongings in the semi light, still not touching the light switch, placing each of Dean's belongings in his duffel as if they were sacred relics. One day they would deal with this, but today neither had enough strength.

They sat in the car in silence and ate breakfast in a small dingy diner without saying a word to anyone.

The silence that seemed to surround them remained unbroken throughout the day and was only disturbed as the younger figure lay back to sleep in another anonymous hotel room no different from the one stained with his tears and grief.

Staring at another illuminated clock before he resumed his count of moments no longer spent alone but which would never be the same he whispered the farewell he had missed the night before.

"Night jerk." No similar loving insult winged its way back across the now silent again room and Sam doubted the rooms only other occupant had even heard his words he felt somehow better. Because he could pretend, just for a moment, that it was Dean casting the bulky shadow across the room, and though he knew it wasn't he knew it was another man who loved him as much in his own way as Dean had in his even if John didn't always understand or support Sam the way Dean did. He was still there and Sam was no longer alone.

Ok, so...what did you think? Please review and tell me what you think, you're oppinions mean alot to me so yeah...drop me a line.

Sammy


End file.
